


paper thin walls

by luni



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (In St. Petersburg), Established Relationship, M/M, Making Out, Miscommunication, Post-Series, Relationship Problems, Viktuuri Living Together, baby steps they say, hey this isn't porn i'm proud of myself, victor tries his best, yuuri's an anxious bundle of softness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 10:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9068305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luni/pseuds/luni
Summary: The knowledge that he's constantly putting their relationship below skating and coaching is disheartening to say the least. It makes him want to pin Victor to the nearest wall and ravish him and maybe also ask him out on a date and hold his hand as they walk home.Or: the one where Yuuri takes relationship matters into his own hands.(After months and months.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> i can't wait for season two to be all 'you are like little baby. watch this' at me but i still want to write all the viktuuri-in-victors-apartment fics. give me russia arc. gimme  
> enjoy! ^♡^

Yuuri hates Sundays with a passion.

  
Scratch that - he doesn't hate Sundays, now that he thinks about it, rather he dislikes them: on any other day of the week he isn't that bothered by the unforgiving cold and how he still sweats under his armpits and on his back and behind his knees and even in his socks, no matter how many layers of clothing he shields himself with, but on Sundays his fingertips burn a little too much and his knuckles are dry, frozen, bright red. A morning shower in the bathroom of Victor's apartment can only do so much to soothe him. His reflection in the mirror apparently agrees with him.

  
Splashing cold water on his face, Yuuri grimaces. There's no practice planned for the day: no training whatsoever, be it actual skating or ballet or jogging or even stretching. He is _not_  a workaholic, nor he despises slow and cold days perfect for staying inside and doing absolutely nothing - he just needs time to sort out his relationship with Victor, and he's _so afraid_ , because Yuuri might be inexperienced but he isn't stupid, he knows that it's his own fault if they never went beyond innocent pecks even after all that Eros business, but the knowledge that he's constantly putting their relationship below skating and coaching is disheartening to say the least. It makes him want to pin Victor to the nearest wall and ravish him and maybe also ask him out on a date and hold his hand as they walk home.

  
He used to think, _that only happens in books and movies._

  
But he also used to think _I will never be able to skate on the same ice as Victor,_  and look at him now.

  
Yuuri's had plenty of time in the past month, but it's never enough. He never works up the courage to look Victor in the eye and ask, are they doing something wrong? Should they work on their relationship more? The truth is, He doesn't know what to do with himself when there's no skating between him and Victor, and he freezes and lets everything slide, pushes his own desires to the back of his mind, and that's quite worrying given that Victor is his-

  
"Yuuri! You're not sleeping in the bathroom, are you?"

  
-voice that warns him that yes, now they live together (for training purposes) and they share a bathroom (because why would Victor need two when he's on his own) and he should probably cut to the chase and brush his teeth with fiery passion.

 

 

(He knows that, for everything that Victor represents, his love still scares him the most.)

 

  
As soon as Yuuri steps out of the bathroom, he sees Victor doing some quick mental math (the telltale sign is _the_  glare, complete with thin eyebrows crawling up his forehead), before questioning him. "It's Sunday, Yuuri! Why are you up so early?"

  
Yuuri secretly finds it endearing how Victor manages to pout with his voice alone.

  
"I... wanted to go out for a walk," he lies, and Victor sees right through it, but Yuuri doesn't want to fight first thing in the morning so he's quick to sprinkle some truth on that, "because I really wanted to practice but the rink is closed today, so..."

  
There are three plausible Victor-reactions.

  
1: He huffs and giggles, the corners of his eyes crinkling, soft-looking heart-shaped lips smiling as he runs long pale fingers through Yuuri's hair.

  
2: He smiles the please-refrain-from-lying-to-me smile and puts large, impossibly warm hands on Yuuri's shoulders, forcing him to turn around and go back to bed - or, even better, to prepare breakfast because Victor is too lazy to do that if it involves more than a cup of coffee.

  
3: His smile is kinder than Reaction #2 but the consequences are merciless and morph into a 10km run where Yuuri gasps for air and all the muscles in his body burn and Victor follows happily behind him. On a bike.

  
Reaction #3 is out of the question because they are in Russia and it's _so_  cold and Victor doesn't own a bike, and it might be a bit too late for Reaction #1, so that leaves...

  
"You're not getting out of this apartment today, Yuuri," Victor explains, sincere smile tugging at every single facial muscle he owns, hands clinging to his own hips, sweatpants riding very, very, very low on his body -- _oh no it's the Seduction Route_  - "because on Sunday we rest. I'm your coach after all, and you should do whatever your coach says. Right?"

  
Oh.

  
Maybe Victor just likes to wear low-rise pants.

  
"Right..."

 

 

  
So, Yuuri dislikes Sundays with a passion.

 

 

  
"I missed you during the Nationals," Victor admits softly, fingers drawing abstract patterns on Yuuri's exposed forearm. His skin tingles, hands cold and knuckles covered in tiny scratches. Russia's cold is dry and sharp (did he ever mention he hates the cold?), and he forgot to pack moisturizers.

  
"I did too," he replies, shifting on the sofa. Victor is sitting beside him, arm slung over his shoulders, caressing his wrist as they watch colorful early-morning Russian cartoons. Victor's TV is a lot bigger than the one at Yu-topia, back in Hasetsu: flinching at the sudden wave of homesickness, Yuuri curls up and hides his nose between his knees, tucked against his chest.

  
"You're not talking to me, Yuuri."

  
His first instinct is to answer, curtly, _I just did_ , but he knows better and besides Victor doesn't react well to that kind of sarcasm. This time, Yuuri knows, Victor is pouting with his mouth, too. He can't bring himself to look, because Victor's fingers dancing on his forearm are way more interesting, so he stays silent.

  
Victor sighs, an ugly mix of disappointment and frustration, Yuuri presumes. He doesn't push and gives Yuuri his own space, but his fingers stop caressing Yuuri's forearm and that's the final nail in the coffin.

  
Yuuri registers that he's crying only when he mentally curses for not being able to read _Masha and the Bear_ 's end credits: Victor already noticed a few seconds before, and now sits at the other end of the couch in complete silence. Yuuri's shoulders are cold and his right forearm tingles.

  
"We have one month left before Worlds," Victor murmurs, and that sounds an awful lot like _please try to sort out your feelings because living together with you like this is hurting me and I'm running out of plans._

  
A weak sniffle is the only answer Victor gets.

 

 

  
Scratch that.

  
Yuuri hates Sundays with every fibre of his being.

 

 

  
"What do you want for dinner?"

  
Yuuri inhales sharply and sits upright on the couch, eyes blearily looking up at Victor's dark silhouette, crouched down to look him in the face. He didn't switch the light on, not wanting to wake Yuuri up too harshly.

  
The faint light that comes in from the large windows is starting to grate on Yuuri's nerves because he knows Victor can see his every expression in detail thanks to that, he can see his heavy-lidded bloodshot eyes and the marks of the couch pillows on his cheek and the thin dribble of drool at the corner of his mouth.

  
He doesn't have time to patch up a quick answer because as soon as he opens his mouth to speak, Victor runs a hand through his hair.

  
"I'm sorry," he breathes out.

  
Yuuri knows that it's hard for Victor. He still doesn't know how to behave when Yuuri goes through the 'very bad and very ugly days', as he calls them. He apologizes a lot, stays quiet for too long, asks too many questions in a row, his lips a straight horizontal line permanently plastered on his face and there's none of the usual Nikiforov elegance found in his steps and gestures and even in the way he brushes his hair back or tucks the longer strands behind his ear; Victor locks himself up very tightly, his own social shortcomings laid bare for Yuuri to see, and it's not a pretty view.  
He hates it so much but he's so grateful for Victor's efforts. His Yuuri-handling skills are _horrible_  but he's a fighter and never backs down when it truly matters.

And it's when Victor's cold palm is pressed to Yuuri's sweaty forehead, when Victor is looking right into Yuuri's eyes and there are bags under his pretty blue eyes and his lips are chapped and a few strands of his hair are plastered to his forehead because he didn't bother washing it in the morning, when the whole absurdity of the situations punches Yuuri right in the throat and leaves him with tears in his eyes, that he realizes.

 

He loves him so so so much.

 

"You shouldn't be," he manages in a hoarse voice. Victor is still looking at him with worry, but he softens up considerably.

  
And it's when he realizes that he loves Victor, that he runs tentative fingers along his sharp jawline and asks, "can you kiss me?", that Victor truly lights up.

 

 

It's ironic.

  
Months before, in a drafty parking lot, Victor asked him if he should just kiss him or something, because Yuuri was crying a lot, and lashed out at him asking for something as simple as his faith and nothing more: now Yuuri is asking him, "can you kiss me", which sounds more like "I'm waiting for you right here, please, meet me halfway" and Victor does just that.

 

 

Victor's mouth is warm, lips wet from a previous flick of his own pink tongue, and his hands are uncomfortably cold as they cup Yuuri's face: he moves up on the couch to straddle Yuuri's hips, kissing him again, and again, and again, and Yuuri buries his own hands into Victor's clammy hair just above the back of his neck.

  
_Stupid skating and stupid training and stupid Katsuki Yuuri_  he thinks of himself, briefly, as he sits up and tilts his head into the kiss. Victor shifts and gulps as Yuuri breaks contact to lick his own lips, then resumes and runs both hands down Victor's sides, groaning into his mouth, sucking on his tongue, his breathing picking up the pace to follow every single wet popping sound shared between their lips.

  
"Yuuri-"

  
Victor's plea is cut short by Yuuri's weak attempt at flipping their positions, a combination of Victor being heavier than him and the couch a bit too narrow for two people. Yuuri doesn't really want to listen to whatever Victor has to say, partly because he knows it'll break his shaky resolve in a matter of seconds, and because he wants to make the wrong choice, for once. There will be no _'let's slow down (for your sake)'_ , no _'we should talk (you don't really want this now)'_ , this time Yuuri will not stop halfway.

  
It's high time he set out to take whatever he wanted.

  
Victor lets out a delicious sigh when his back hits the couch, and Yuuri grabs his shoulders, tracing the length of Victor's neck with swollen lips: his tongue laps at the hollow of his collarbones as he thinks, _we should have done this sooner_ , and he knows Victor silently agrees with him because he exhales harshly and arches up to meet Yuuri's hand, now stroking down his torso.

  
"Oh, Yuuri..."

  
Then he freezes.

  
Victor, always patient despite himself, smiles with parted lips. "Don't push yourself this much," he murmurs, moonlight sitting in all the right places on his long neck and prominent cheekbones. "I just wanted to comfort you."

  
_It's now or never._

  
"I want to go out with you, Victor!"

  
Victor freezes, too. And, thank heavens for the previously-annoying moonlight, he can see a slight blush creeping up his face.

  
"... _Wow_."

  
Now, if only he could speak his mind without tears bubbling up in his throat and threatening to spill out of his eyes...

  
"I'm sorry, because I'm... horrible. And I think too much-" now Victor smirks and cocks his head, "-and I always pushed _us_ to the side. I want to make it up to you."

  
Yuuri's hand is still on Victor's chest when he takes a deep breath, reveling in the touch with a patient smile.  _He's gorgeous._

  
"No matter how hard I try, I never know what to do with you, Yuuri. How am I supposed to answer?"

  
It's the same feeling as watching the horizon stretch and stretch until the sky bleeds into the land: Yuuri doesn't know where to look, overwhelmed. There's so much, Victor is just _too_  much for him, his presence has always made him feel either very small or towering over anyone else, constantly swinging him back and forth, holding his hand at every step of the way.

 

(He's so corny.)

 

"Just say that you'll go on a date with me."

  
This time Victor's smile lights up his whole body, mouth a pretty little and pink (and freshly-kissed and swollen) heart. "We'll go on a date then."

  
"You'll pay for dinner," Yuuri smiles back, feeling giddy, the front of Victor's shirt held tightly in his fist. "And we'll walk back home together."

  
Victor nods, visibly swallowing. "Mhm, go on."

  
Yuuri dives in to kiss Victor's soft, soft, soft lips. "Then you'll kiss me all night long, just because."

  
"You're blushing very hard right now."

  
Not even Victor _blushing back_  can stop him. Not now. Not now that he wants to say what he had to say with a silver medal hanging from his neck and sweat plastering his free skate costume to his back, "Victor, I lo-"

 

 

(Well, Victor does stop him -- always meeting him halfway, always striving to ride on the same wavelength.)

  
(It's just that he couldn't exactly predict Yuuri's reaction: hands flying to cover his face, shoulders shaking under the weight of many little happy sobs.)

  
"Yuuri!? You said you wanted me to kiss you!"

 

 

 

He tells him when they're locking the apartment door, before going out for dinner, and Victor, under many many many layers of clothing, _shivers and gasps_.

 

 

 

Yuuri _loves_ Sundays.


End file.
